Theater of War: Act One, Scene 3
by TOW
Summary: Continuation of Theater of War: Act One - "Every Man Must Play a Part"
1. Chapter 1

Act One

Scene Three

– One –

It was the week before Christmas. But it didn't feel like it, Colonel Robert Hogan thought as he walked into the abandoned coalmine behind Klink. The uncertain news about the war made both the prisoners and the Germans unhappy. The new German counteroffensive seemed to be working; Hitler was promising Paris to the Germans as a Christmas present. But there were German defeats in other areas. So, both sides had little to feel cheerful about.

Hogan glanced at Klink's back. Another reason not to feel cheerful. Klink was the coldest, the most unreachable, he had ever been in the three years Hogan had known him. Klink's expression was stern, unreadable; there was no humor in his eyes now, no softness. That episode with the Gestapo a couple of weeks ago still stood between them. Klink barely talked to Hogan, ignoring his presence most of the time, acknowledging it only when he had to. The brief camaraderie they had enjoyed in the days following Dieter Müller's visit was gone. Destroyed by a thoughtless idea.

No, not thoughtless. Hogan had known exactly what he was doing. He didn't want to think of Klink as a person; it would interfere with his future plans. Klink was nothing more than an expendable object. Just a tool to be used or discarded as the need arose. And turning Klink in to the Gestapo proved it.

Then why was he still feeling so rotten about the whole thing?

Those dreams. That's why. Those stupid, mindless dreams. Making him think of Klink as something other than what he was. That picture of what Martinelli had done to Klink, and others like it, kept recurring in Hogan's dreams. Making him feel sorry for Klink, making him think Klink wasn't expendable.

But, damn it, Klink was! He existed only because Hogan had a use for him. And when Hogan no longer had a use for him, Klink would be gone. Just remember that. Klink would be gone.

A glance at Klink's back. Maybe soon if Klink was going to keep acting this way.

Klink glanced back at Hogan, meeting his eyes for a second. Klink, seeming to read Hogan's thoughts, grew even colder.

Kommandant Wilhelm Klink stopped in the farthest reaches of the mine and turned back toward Hogan, waiting for him. The lantern he held cast eerie shadows on the rock walls.

Hogan glanced around uneasily. They were alone here in the darkness. The others were near the entrance, a long way away, their lights flickering in the distance.

"Hogan . . . Hogan."

Almost reluctantly, Hogan turned toward Klink.

"What is the matter with you?" Klink asked irritably.

"What?"

"I said — " He was interrupted by a muffled sound. Bits of debris rained down upon them.

Hogan looked up, startled.

"A bomber dropping its load," Klink guessed, his eyes on the ceiling. It had been reinforced by wooden beams.

"Guess so," Hogan said. For some reason, this mine made him edgy.

Klink glanced at Hogan. There had been an unexpected nervousness in Hogan's voice. "I would think a prisoner would be used to tunnels," Klink said dryly, guessing at the cause of Hogan's uneasiness.

Pride stung Hogan. "What makes you think I'm not?"

Klink almost smiled. "Not a thing. As I told you earlier, while most of the coal has already been mined, there should still be enough pieces around to help heat the barracks." He gestured toward the loose, dark lumps scattered around the chamber. "If you agree, your men can start — "

He never finished the sentence as the ceiling exploded on top of them.

...

Hogan came to slowly, and opened his eyes.

He nearly screamed. He was in absolute darkness, not a hint of any light at all. As the shock wore off, panic began to grip him, strangling his throat. He couldn't seem to breathe and began gasping for air. His hands flailed uselessly; he lost all sense of direction, all sense of himself. His mouth opened, ready to scream.

"Colonel Hogan." Klink's voice sounded faintly in the darkness behind him.

Relief washed over Hogan. Hogan's voice was shaking, though he didn't realize it. "Yes."

A very faint voice, barely audible. "Can . . . Can you see anything?"

The panic nearly swamped Hogan again. "N-o-o." He couldn't hear the near hysteria in his voice.

"Pity," came the unnaturally calm voice. "The entrance to this part of the mine must have collapsed."

A nervous twitter from Hogan.

"Well," said the unexpectedly dry voice, "we will just have to wait until they dig us out."

"If they do." Panic in Hogan's voice.

"Of course, they will," said the voice. "Your men will dig for you; mine will dig for me. It is just a matter of time."

"The air . . . I can't breathe . . . " Hogan's voice was harsh.

"There is plenty of air," soothed the voice. "Lie still and take deep breaths. Go on, do it!" A command. "One . . . two . . . "

Slowly, Hogan complied. Gradually, his harsh breathing returned to normal.

"Better?" the voice asked.

Hogan nodded, unseen. "Yes." His voice was much calmer.

"Good. Can you move? Cautiously."

Hogan checked. "Not really. My arms are free and it feels like there's a big chunk of rock across my waist. But it's not too bad; I can move my legs a little. And I've got a headache," he added.

A faint, "So do I. Are you lying on anything?"

"No. Just the ground."

"Then you should be fine. Just stay still and enjoy the rest."

"Rest?" A touch of his normal humor. "This is not the most comfortable bed I've ever been in."

"Nor I." Klink broke off in a fit of coughing.

Hogan's head turned toward the back. "Kommandant?"

Slowly, Klink's voice cleared. "Some dirt still in my mouth."

"Are you all right?"

Suddenly, Hogan remembered the last time he had asked that question. And Klink's answer. Did he really care? Of course not. He had never cared about Klink. And he never would. After all, how could you care about . . . ?

_Don't hurt . . ._

Hogan forced the memory away.

"As you said, this is not the most comfortable bed to be in."

"Kommandant, you had the lantern."

"I am afraid that is gone," Klink said.

"So, no light." A glimmer of the panic again in Hogan's voice.

"Oh, well," a nonchalant voice, "I do some of my best thinking in the dark."

"Well, I'm not too crazy about it," Hogan said.

"Oh, why?"

"Claustrophobia," Hogan found himself admitting. "Ever since I was a kid, I've hated this kind of dark."

"I've always thought of the dark as a friend," Klink said surprisingly.

"Why?" Hogan asked, nervousness still in his voice.

"It was my world. When it was dark, I could be anything I wanted, do anything I wanted," Klink said quietly. "I could forget about school, or parents, or anything else I didn't like. And no one could bother me there."

"Never thought of it that way." The nervousness eased a little. "I always thought there were all kinds of monsters just waiting to grab me."

"Maybe that's the difference, Colonel Hogan; I saw the monsters in the daytime." Klink changed the subject. "Tell me about your childhood, Colonel Hogan. You were born in Cleveland as I remember."

"Uh, yeah. Know anything about it?"

"It's in Ohio, is it not?"

"You know your geography, Kommandant."

"I've always enjoyed it. Especially studying your country. All those thousands of miles and still the same country. It seemed so unbelievable."

"I guess Europe's not like that."

"No. Just a few miles, and it is a totally different world. Different languages, customs, prejudices."

Hogan's head turned toward the voice behind him in surprise.

"Tell me about Ohio, Colonel Hogan," Klink said.

"Well, it's green and big and . . . "

On the other side of the wall of stone, both prisoners and Germans dug anxiously through rubble.

...

The hours passed. Hogan kept talking, coaxed on by Klink's faint voice. Whenever Hogan faltered, Klink questioned or cajoled as needed. Finally, the sounds of digging that had been getting louder, stopped.

Hogan stopped talking, his head turning toward the place the sounds had been loudest. "They've stopped!"

"They must be close," Klink said in that faint voice.

"They've given up!"

"They must be very close now," Klink said. "They have to be careful. They don't know where we are on this side of the rubble."

Hogan wet his dry lips nervously. "I hope you're right."

A sudden noise to his right startled him. A large rock tumbled noisily to the ground.

"Colonel! Colonel Hogan!" It was Carter.

"Right here, Carter!" Hogan called, relief washing over him. He could see a bit of light now. The darkness was no longer absolute. With the returning light, his confidence returned.

"Kommandant!" Schultz called.

"Colonel Hogan," came Klink's faint voice, "can you see anything yet?"

Hogan grinned. "Yeah! Schultz!"

"Kommandant?" again from Schultz.

"He's fine, Schultz," Hogan answered. "He's somewhere behind me."

"Colonel," Carter asked, "how close are you to the hole?"

"Uh, about six feet to the left of it," Hogan estimated.

"Okay, that's good," Carter replied. "We can break it in then. Just sit tight, sir. We'll be through in just a little bit."

The little bit was an hour but Hogan had never felt so relieved. It was over. Finally, over.

In the near darkness, they lifted the final piece of rock from his legs. Hogan sat up gingerly with Baker's help.

"Everything all right, sir?" A grimy Newkirk asked. "Nothing broken?"

"No, I feel great. Help me up, will you?"

"Right, sir." Newkirk gave Hogan a hand up and then helped him out of the rear chamber.

Without looking back, without pausing to rest, Hogan walked quickly to the entrance of the mine.

A couple of dozen men, mainly guards, were waiting outside. An ambulance also waited, a doctor standing patiently beside it. The doctor hurried over to Hogan.

Hogan waved him off. "I'm fine. Just a few bruises." He grinned and took a deep breath of the cold afternoon air. "Just fine."

Newkirk grinned as well and handed him a canteen of water. "Well, you look a proper mess, sir."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Hogan brushed ineffectually at the dirt in his hair. Then taking a drink of the water, he spotted Schultz coming out of the cave.

"Schultz!" He was cheerful, glad to be alive and out of that place. He could afford to think of Klink for once. "Where's the Kommandant?"

"Still inside," Schultz said heavily. Then a quick order to some of the soldiers in German. They hurried inside.

Hogan was still cheerful. "He'll be out soon, right?"

Schultz looked at him.

The smile froze on Hogan's face. "He's right behind me, isn't he?"

Schultz slowly shook his head. "No, Colonel Hogan. He is trapped behind a pile of rubble larger than the one we dug through earlier."

Hogan was stunned. "But . . . I could hear him."

"There is a small gap right near where you were lying, Colonel Hogan. That is why you could hear him."

"So you can get to him through that."

Schultz looked at him bleakly. "No, Colonel Hogan, we cannot."

"Why not?" Hogan asked harshly.

A sigh. "It would be better if you saw for yourself."

"Back in there?" Panic again rising up inside him.

Schultz looked surprised, but the surprise faded quickly. "No. Go back to camp, Colonel Hogan. Have some food and rest. We will try to dig him out."

That startled Hogan. "What do you mean, try?"

"It is very difficult," Schultz said heavily. "There is quite a lot of debris and the ceiling is unstable."

Hogan stood quite still. "You're going to leave him in there," he said tonelessly.

Schultz looked hurt. "We have no intention of leaving him in there. But it will take time to dig him out. And we must be careful. We think that there is not much room between the debris and the back wall. And we do not know where he is in there. If we dig in the wrong place, we might accidentally bury him."

Hogan shuddered, remembering his own fear of such a fate. It had been almost as bad as the dark — not knowing where he was. He had lifted his hands cautiously, trying to determine if there was anything over him. There hadn't been.

Well, Klink should be all right in there.

"Come on, sir," LeBeau was saying. "Let's get back to camp and get you cleaned up. Get some food into you."

"Yeah," Hogan said absently. Then . . .

"Uh, wait a minute." Come to think of it, Klink never did say how he was. "I just want to see what's going on."

"But . . . " LeBeau's protest fell on Hogan's retreating back.

With puzzled looks, LeBeau and the others hurried after Hogan as he went back into the tunnel.

...

Hogan wet his dry lips nervously as he approached the caved-in chamber. But now it wasn't empty. It was filled with soldiers, standing around, waiting for orders. And there was a lot more light in the front section of it.

Hogan stood at the entrance to the chamber in which he had been trapped, stunned at what he saw. A wall of debris, soil, rock and wooden beams divided the chamber in two. The wall extended nearly to the ceiling. Only a small gap on the left side separated it from the roof. And down where Hogan had lain was a small hole. Two huge beams protruded from the mess out into the middle of the chamber.

Hogan shuddered; he'd just missed being buried under all that rubble.

One of the younger, more agile soldiers was on top of the debris, near the gap, pulling sand and dirt out to widen it.

"Klink's behind there?" Hogan asked, an unexpected sinking feeling in his stomach.

Schultz nodded. "Jawohl. Those two beams seem to be near him. But we don't yet know where or how he is trapped. We won't know until we can get some light in there."

Hogan leaned against the wall, his mouth suddenly dry.

LeBeau tugged at his arm. "Come on, mon Colonel," he urged.

Hogan let himself be pulled out of the room. Out in the tunnel, he stopped, gulping in deep breaths of air. He'd had trouble breathing in that cell.

"Come on, sir," Newkirk was saying. "Let's get out of here."

"There's no light behind that wall," Hogan mumbled, remembering.

"A little, sir," Baker said uneasily. "Some of it should be getting through that hole and from the top."

They had never seen him so shaken before. Of course, a cave-in was enough to spook any man.

Hogan wasn't listening. Klink was trapped in there. No light. Probably little air. He couldn't have much room to move around back there. And there was no one to talk to. No one. Klink was alone. Totally alone in that darkness.

So? Klink was expendable. Remember? Expendable . . .

_"Tell me about your childhood."_

Alone. Totally alone.

No. He couldn't leave Klink alone in there. At least, not without checking how he was. He owed Klink that much.

To the surprise of his men, Hogan pushed himself away from the wall and went back inside the cave. He nearly bumped into Schultz as he entered.

Schultz was startled to see him. "Colonel Hogan?"

"Can you see him yet?" Hogan asked, his voice sounding more normal.

"No," Schultz admitted. "In another minute or two, we should have the gap at the top wide enough to see the other side."

"You're going to send someone in, aren't you? To stay with him?"

Schultz shook his head. "We need everyone to help dig."

"Then I'm going in," Hogan said.

"Thank you, Colonel Hogan," Schultz said as cries of surprise rose from the prisoners. "But it could be dangerous in there. And you should rest. Return to camp, Colonel."

"No," he said in a voice that brooked no argument. "I want a strong light and a canteen."

Schultz looked at the determination on his face. "All right, Colonel Hogan. We will get them for you." He turned to another guard and gave the order.

Meanwhile, the soldier on top of the wall had peered over it. Blanching, he hurried back down and began talking excitedly to Schultz.

"Slowly, Otto," Schultz said. "Slowly. What did you see?"

"The Kommandant!" the soldier whispered. "He is almost completely buried. Only his head is free. I cannot see the rest of him."

Hogan paled. Klink hadn't said a word. He had assumed that Klink had been trapped as he had. But he could move his hands and his legs had been free. It was only those rocks pinning his waist that had trapped him. Rocks too large to move by himself.

Klink had been immobile in that absolute darkness. Completely.

Hogan shuddered. He would have gone mad in there. He nearly did, except for . . .

"Colonel," Newkirk was saying, "you can't be serious. This isn't your concern. Let them take care of it."

"All of them are needed to dig," Hogan said.

"So?"

"He's alone in there," Hogan said in a soft voice. "No light."

"They'll put a lamp in there," Carter said.

Hogan looked at him. "He can't move!"

"Sir." Newkirk looked at Schultz who moved a short distance away. "This is Klink we're talking about. Remember? Let them handle it. It's no concern of yours."

"Yes, it is." Hogan's voice was shaking now. "You don't get it, do you?"

They looked at each other uneasily.

"He never said anything," Hogan whispered. "He just kept me talking, never let me stop. Never let me think about the darkness, or how thirsty I was, or how dirty, or that I was stuck under that stupid rock. I couldn't forget those things, but he never let me feel alone. Not for one minute." He had to swallow the unexpected lump in his throat. "If it weren't for him, I would have gone nuts." He caught their startled glances. "Yeah, me. The brave American colonel. Afraid of the dark."

"Colonel," Kinch said slowly, "it would have scared anyone."

"It didn't scare him," Hogan said. "And he's a lot worse off than I was."

"Then he doesn't need your help," LeBeau said brightly.

"How do you know?!" Hogan demanded. "You weren't stuck in there." The shakiness was back in his voice. "Can you even begin to imagine what it's like? To be completely blind, buried, unable to move so much as a finger. Wondering if the next breath would bring more dirt or rock on top of you. And unable to do a thing if it did. I can't leave him. This time . . . This time, I can't!"

Hogan stalked away, feeling their eyes on him.

"I don't get it," Carter said in a whisper. "The Colonel hates Klink. You'd think he'd enjoy this."

"Maybe he doesn't hate him after all," Baker said softly.

"The Colonel's tired," LeBeau said. "And doesn't know what he's doing."

"Oh, he knows all right," Newkirk said with disgust. "He's helping that bloody Kraut."

Kinch shook his head. "No. Not the bloody Kraut."

The others looked at him in surprise.

"Amazing what you can see in the dark."

Blank looks from the others.

"No uniforms, no slogans, not even Germans or Americans," Kinch said. "Just two men, isolated, scared, with no one to rely on except each other. A voice making sure that you're not alone. That's what the Colonel saw. And it kept him going. And right now, that's all he sees. Not a uniform, or a German. Not even Klink. Just a man, trapped, needing help, who had helped him when he needed it."

"And after this is over?" Newkirk asked.

Kinch shrugged. "Who knows? But for now, it doesn't really matter." He glanced at Hogan, who stood looking up at the wall. "Not to him." A sudden grin. "Well, I'm already dirty. What's a bit more dirt? Right?"

The others looked at him and shrugged.

"What the hell?" Newkirk said. "I've got nothing better to do."


	2. Chapter 2

Act One

Scene Three

– Two –

Hogan, a light held high in his hand, canteen strap around his neck, slid carefully down the rubble. Shadows flickered and danced around the walls as he moved.

Finally, Hogan hit the bottom of the mess. Dirt, sand and rock littered the floor on this side of the chamber. He had to climb over a couple of beams that tilted crazily against the walls. Another beam was wedged between the rock wall and the debris piled in the middle. Klink was just on the other side of it. But Hogan couldn't reach across the beam. He removed the canteen strap from his neck and placed the lantern on top of the beam. Then he lay down on the sand and rock, and inched his way toward Klink. There was barely two feet of clearance between his head and the beam. Then, in the gloom, he saw Klink.

Scarcely three feet separated Klink from the wall of debris on the right beside his head, the space tapering down to less than a foot where his feet would be. But there was nothing separating Klink from the back wall of the chamber. He was pinned against it. The two beams that protruded out of the other side of the wall were lying across him. One beam lay where his hips would be; the other, across his thighs. Loose rock and sand had partially buried the beams, and completely buried Klink's body from his chest down. Klink's left arm was buried as well, somewhere against the back wall. His right seemed to lie against his body, but it looked as if only loose sand and rock covered it. Only Klink's head was completely free.

For a moment, Hogan stared at Klink. Klink, the expendable, the tool, the . . .

Klink's eyes opened. Surprise was in their blue depths as he saw Hogan. Hogan was the last person he expected to see.

"What . . . " Klink swallowed and tried again. "What are you doing here?"

Hogan lay down next to him. "I brought you some water," Hogan said quietly.

Lying on his elbow, Hogan opened the canteen. He placed his left hand under Klink's neck, lifting his head slightly and held the canteen to Klink's lips.

Klink choked on the first swallow, water dribbling down his chin. Hogan tried again. This time, Klink managed to swallow some of the liquid. Then Hogan eased his head down.

A whisper, "Thank you."

Hogan turned the light so he could see Klink better. Klink winced in the sharp light. He looked pale, too pale, to Hogan.

"Can you move?" Hogan asked.

A weary shake of his head. "Not really. Just enough to keep my limbs 

from going numb."

"Okay. I think I might be able to free your right hand without bringing any dirt down," Hogan said. "Okay?"

Klink nodded, his eyes closing.

Carefully, Hogan began scooping the sand away from Klink's arm. It was hot work in the dark confined space; the air itself seemed stifling. But he kept it up. After a while, Klink was able to move his arm a little. After a long while, Hogan grinned.

"I think we've got it, Kommandant!" he said triumphantly.

A slow steady pull. Intent on his task, Hogan missed the pained expression on Klink's face. Slowly, Klink's arm, then his hand, was pulled from beneath the dirt.

A sharp intake of breath from Klink.

Hogan glanced at him.

"It had grown numb," Klink said through clenched teeth. "It is coming to life. Slowly."

Hogan grinned and continued to pull the hand. His smile faded as Klink's hand came free. The dirty fingers were stained with blood. He looked at Klink.

"The lantern," Klink explained in a tight voice. "It was under the beam as it fell. The beam is pressing part of it into my right thigh."

Hogan paled. "You never said anything."

"What would be the point?" Klink asked.

A deep breath. "Okay, Colonel. What about the other beam?"

"It is lying across my hips. I don't think anything is broken. Though the pressure seems to be greater on the left side."

"Your left hand?" Hogan asked.

"Undamaged," Klink said.

"How much are you bleeding?"

"I don't know," Klink admitted. "The beam is putting pressure on the wound, acting as a tourniquet. I don't think it has been bleeding too much."

"But freeing your hand?"

"Just a little more, I think."

"Damn you!" Hogan exploded. "You're practically buried alive in here, bleeding, and you don't say anything!"

A tired, almost bitter, "As I said, what would be the point?" Then a soft gasp.

"Colonel?"

"I can feel something." Klink's face twisted and his breathing quickened. "The debris — it is shifting."

"Damn! Schultz! Stop whatever you're doing! Now!"

The tense lines in Klink's face relaxed. "It's fading." His breathing settled down.

Hogan picked up the canteen again. "Here." He held it to Klink's lips. Then Hogan laid the canteen down. "I'll be back," he promised.

Klink's eyes closed. "I'm not going anywhere."

Hogan glanced at him in surprise. Then he inched his way back under the beam.

...

"Anything you do to those beams puts pressure on Klink," Hogan was saying outside the cave as Doctor Ernst Bauer, a lean, intense man with a goatee, listened.

"Then how do we get him out?" Schultz asked.

"Break down the wall, get him from the back."

"How badly is he bleeding?" the doctor wanted to know.

"I don't know," Hogan admitted. "The beam seems to be acting as a bandage."

"And pushing the glass or metal into his leg as well," Bauer said, "damaging the muscles in his thigh. And if the object is long enough and sharp enough, it could penetrate an artery. At which point, he would bleed to death."

Hogan swallowed nervously. "Which is worse?"

Doctor Bauer shook his head. "I do not know. But if he can tolerate the pressure and not go into shock, breaking down the wall might be better." He glanced at Schultz. "How stable is that ceiling, and how much time will it take?"

"I do not know," Schultz said wearily. "No one does."

"Then do what you must. But the Kommandant must be watched closely. You must send someone in to check on him frequently."

Schultz sighed, wishing he were smaller, thinner. "Jawohl, mein Herr."

"I'll stay with him," Hogan said tonelessly.

"You, Colonel Hogan?" Bauer was surprised. Why should a prisoner risk his life helping the Kommandant? Especially after the way Hogan had treated Klink after the Kommandant had been beaten.

"It would be better to have someone with him all the time, wouldn't it?" Hogan said.

Bauer nodded. "Ja, it would. Very well, Colonel Hogan. I will give you some salt tablets. Give him all the water he wishes. Keep him conscious and talking. Let me know if his mind begins to wander or if he has trouble staying conscious. Later, I may ask you to check his heart rate and breathing. Is he able to breathe properly?"

"Yes," Hogan said. "But it's hot and cramped in there."

"Loosen his clothing, open his shirt. If you can, remove some of the dirt on him. But stay away from the beams."

Hogan nodded and started to turn away.

The doctor stopped him. "Colonel Hogan."

Hogan looked at him.

"You do realize the Kommandant is in pain, possibly a great deal of pain," Bauer said.

Hogan looked startled. "He didn't say he was," Hogan said tonelessly.

A grim smile. "Perhaps not. But those beams are putting pressure on 

his nerves. Then whatever is in his leg . . . " The doctor shook his head. "And he has been like that for hours. With each minute, the pain will become worse, not less."

Hogan looked uneasy. "What about painkillers?"

The doctor shook his head. "Too dangerous; he might go into shock." He looked at Hogan's pale face. "Keep him talking, Colonel. Try to keep his mind off the pain. But it will become more difficult as time goes on. Are you certain you want to stay with him?"

No. He didn't want to stay with Klink. Whatever possessed him? Whatever happened to Klink was no concern of his.

_Don't hurt . . ._

But, he had given his word. Hogan swallowed nervously and nodded. "Let's get started," he said grimly.


	3. Chapter 3

Act One

Scene Three

– Three –

In the near darkness, Klink listened to the sounds coming from the other side of the wall. Digging sounds. Just a few meters separated him from the toiling men, but it might as well be a kilometer away. He glanced around his gloomy prison. Rock, dirt, stone and those beams.

Those beams.

Jumbled snatches of memory flashed through his mind. Chaotic images of dirt, darkness and pain. The pain lingered the longest. His head striking something, something slashing into his thigh, something crushing him. Somewhere he seemed to hear a scream. Then nothing.

Pain was the first thing that he remembered again. Pain so intense that he cried out from it. And he knew nothing again.

The second time he came to, it was the darkness that nearly overwhelmed him. The darkness and the realization that he couldn't move. Panic had choked him. Panic and a memory that he had long forgotten. It was the memory of that long ago event that kept the panic stilled. This time, his head was free. This time, he seemed to be in no danger of suffocating. This time.

He clung to that hope. He had no idea if it was true, but he clung to it. And later, he clung to a voice in the darkness. A voice that seemed to need him.

And now?

Klink moved his left hand again and flexed his legs, ignoring the pain in his right thigh and the other one, duller, on his left side where the beam was pressing. He didn't want his limbs getting numb. Even pain was preferable. It meant that blood was still circulating to his limbs.

Now, Hogan had been freed. And they were digging for him. How long would it take them to dig him out?

What time was it anyway? He had forgotten to ask Hogan.

Hogan.

Other memories crowded his mind. Now, there was another ache inside him. One that had been with him ever since Hogan had wished him dead. He knew what Hogan thought of him; he had always known. A fool. No, worse. A thing. To be insulted, used. A uniform with a wind-up toy inside, ready to jump at the whim of Hogan. Something not human.

But when his nephew died, Hogan seemed to treat him a little differently. As he had when Dieter showed up.

Then the incident with Martinelli . . .

_Prefer that he had killed me . . ._

Angry words he had thrown at Hogan.

_Perhaps I do . . ._

Angry words in return.

Perhaps his anger at Hogan had prompted them. But, at that time, at that moment, Hogan meant them, and all of their prior goodwill disappeared. Klink would have done anything to wipe out what had happened. Just one word, one gesture from Hogan, and he would have been willing to start again.

But it was not to be. Instead, Hogan had betrayed him, handed him over to the Gestapo. A shudder as he remembered his fear in that cell. If Hochstetter had been there . . .

Absurd tears stung his eyes.

He had not allowed himself to admit how much Hogan had hurt him. Now, in this unyielding prison, it hit him without warning. The tight sob in his throat gagged him.

Klink blinked back the tears and choked down the sob. Things were bad enough without his getting emotional.

Another glance around at the gloomy scene, and he shuddered. He was lucky to be alive. Lucky.

The light flickered on the walls, increasing the gloom. At least he had light now. And water.

Water. His thirst was back again, suddenly unbearable. His shaking hand reached for the canteen Hogan had left behind. Got it. He pulled it over, next to his side. This was going to be difficult. Maybe he should wait for Hogan.

Hogan. Again, that ache. He didn't expect Hogan to come back. Why should he? Heaven knew why Hogan had even bothered checking on him. Hogan didn't care what happened to him. Hogan had never cared what happened to him unless there was something in it for Hogan. He had finally accepted that. And there was nothing in it for Hogan by helping him now.

His trembling fingers uncapped the canteen. That wasn't too bad. The hard part was trying to drink without spilling all of the water.

Klink's head lifted; he winced as the pain in his skull deepened. His shaking fingers made it difficult to hold the canteen to his lips. It tilted and some of the water spilled on him. He laid his aching head down, holding the canteen on his chest.

Try it again. Again, his head lifted.

"Kommandant!"

The call startled Klink. His head jerked toward the voice, the canteen slipped from his grasp, spilling the water as it slid down his side.

Hogan, retrieving the canteen before it emptied, was inching his way toward Klink. He placed the canteen upright against the wall.

"What do you think you're doing?" Hogan demanded angrily.

"I was getting a drink," Klink said tonelessly.

"You could have waited a little longer," Hogan said roughly. "Until I got back."

Klink looked at him.

Hogan sat back, surprised at the look in Klink's eyes. Klink didn't expect him to return. He expected nothing from Hogan. Nothing except 

hatred and ridicule and contempt.

Now it was Hogan's hand that shook as he lifted the canteen to Klink's lips, his left hand cradling the Kommandant's head so he could drink. His thoughts were jumbled, confused. Klink seemed to know exactly how Hogan felt about him.

What was he doing here? What?

He could leave Klink in here. Klink had light now and water; he'd paid his debt to Klink for Klink's help earlier. Schultz could send someone in periodically to see how Klink was doing. Nobody expected an American prisoner to help the German kommandant of a prisoner of war camp. So, he could leave. After all, it didn't matter to him how Klink was doing, how he was feeling. It didn't matter if Klink was hurt or in pain. It didn't . . .

Hogan recapped the canteen and leaned it against the wall. He looked down at the pale face. Klink's eyes had closed.

Hogan cleared his throat. "The doctor wants to know how you're doing."

"As well as can be expected," Klink said in a tired voice. "How are they doing?"

"As well as can be expected," Hogan echoed. "It will take some time."

Klink nodded.

He was still pale, but didn't seem to be worse, Hogan decided. "Let's see if we can get you more comfortable," Hogan said, remembering the Doctor's instructions. Carefully, he undid Klink's tie. "Better?"

A nod in reply.

"Okay. I'm going to try to get some of this stuff off your chest."

Even more carefully, Hogan began brushing away the loose dirt and rock from Klink's body. Eventually, he managed to clear off the dirt to just below Klink's ribcage. From there on down, the pieces were heavier, some held by the crossbeams.

"Better?"

"Yes."

Klink's breathing seemed to be easier and his color was a bit better as well.

"Good." Hogan's fingers began undoing the buttons on Klink's jacket and shirt. "It's going to get hot in here when they really get going."

Hogan pushed the clothes aside, baring Klink's chest. Klink's chest was wet with sweat, the small dark hairs plastered. For an instant, Hogan imagined he saw blood as well. He shook his head to clear it. Hogan found his handkerchief and wiped the sweat off Klink's face and chest.

Klink looked at him. "Why are you here?"

Hogan didn't look at him. "I bored you with my life story. Now, it's your turn."

"I see," Klink said. "Get the patient talking so he forgets where he is."

Hogan looked at him this time. "Isn't that what you did?"

"You will regret this, Colonel Hogan."

_I already do_.

"Probably." Then an indifferent shrug. "Do you want some more water?" Hogan's tone was impersonal now, his earlier emotion seemingly gone.

Klink glanced at Hogan and turned his head away, a sudden tightness in his chest. "No." His voice was lifeless, deep in his eyes, a growing pain.

Hogan settled back against the wall as comfortably as possible. "All right, Kommandant. You were born in Leipzig(1), right? Before the turn of the century?"

"According to Sergeant Carter, a lot earlier than that(2)," Klink said, his eyes closing.

Hogan managed a small smile. "Well, he's a bad judge of ages. Go on."

"I was born in Leipzig, but we didn't stay there. I was the oldest . . . "

...

Time passed. Slowly. Very slowly. The wall seemed to give up its inches very reluctantly.

Hogan wiped his sweaty brow on his sleeve; it had gotten hot behind the wall. He wet his handkerchief with water from the canteen, and wiped Klink's face and chest.

"Go on," Hogan said after giving Klink another drink. "You were in the last war, right? The Luftwaffe?"

Klink nodded. "Yes. But, at first, I was in the infantry."

"Where?"

"The Western Front. In the trenches."

Hogan glanced at Klink in surprise; he hadn't thought Klink had any combat experience.

"I've read about those trenches," Hogan said. "Sounded like nasty places to be."

Klink nodded. "Nasty is an understatement. Though the German trenches were better organized than the French or British ones, they were still little pieces of hell, especially at the front lines. In the winter, they were like ice boxes, and the uniforms were hardly adequate. If it wasn't freezing or snowing, it was muddy. Like living in a riverbed when it rained. And in the summer, they were fetid, airless ovens."

Hogan looked at Klink as he remembered.

"This," Klink nodded at the debris, "is bringing back memories."

"Pleasant, I hope," Hogan murmured.

No trace of a smile. "Very unpleasant ones. Dirt, mud, insects, lice, rats, human filth, blood, even parts of dead men's bodies, were constant companions. There was never enough food or rest. And the fear. It was everywhere. You could never escape it, not even in your sleep. Cave-ins were very common there."

"Ever get caught in one?" Hogan asked, curious despite himself.

Klink nodded. "Some. Most were not real cave-ins; just some dirt falling on top of you. Rather like digging in a tunnel, I imagine. But one . . . "

"One?" Hogan prompted after a moment.

"It was night, and in that section of the trench, the beds were in alcoves carved out of the walls. It had rained heavily the night before and during the day. And the British artillery had also done some damage. Two of us were in there, sleeping, when the ceiling collapsed on top of us. Schmidt slept on his back; he died almost instantly. I was sleeping on my side against the back wall. As a result, I had a little air pocket."

"You were completely buried?" Hogan was aghast; he had been caught in a couple of minor cave-ins while digging the tunnels and knew what it felt like.

Klink nodded. "Yes. I was blind, deaf, unable to move. And I didn't know how large the air pocket was." A shaky breath as he relived it. "I lay there and waited. At first, I had no idea if anyone even knew where I was. Eventually, I could feel the dirt shifting around me. But I couldn't tell if someone was digging, or if more of the ceiling had collapsed." A shiver as he whispered, "Half the time, I prayed they would dig me out; the rest of the time, I prayed that I would lose consciousness and not know what was happening. I could feel insects, worms, crawling on my face, my hands, in my ears."

Despite himself, Hogan shuddered.

Klink's voice was quiet. "I was terrified of moving for fear that I would bring more dirt down on top of me and close the air pocket. I nearly went mad. I think I screamed. I was unconscious when they finally dug me out. They said I had been buried about an hour; it seemed like an eternity."

He fell silent, still remembering the horror.

"When did you go into the Luftwaffe?" Hogan asked after a few moments.

"Shortly after that." Klink moved restlessly under the debris. "I had an application in before the cave-in; the approval came through while I was in the hospital. After a few weeks of home leave, I started flight training. I will admit, I wasn't a very good pilot at first. In fact, I was terrible."

Hogan hid his smile. "You, Kommandant?"

Klink's voice was tired, and unexpectedly bitter. "Don't bother sounding surprised, Colonel Hogan. We both know what you think of me."

Hogan glanced at him sharply.

"But I did learn to fly. And for the first time since I entered the military, I really enjoyed what I was doing."

"Why did you sign up, Kommandant?" Hogan asked after a moment. "You tell a different story every time the subject comes up."

"The stories made the truth more palatable," Klink said with an attempt at a shrug. "The truth is, I was the eldest son and that was what I was going to do. Like my father, and his father, and so on. For as long as I can remember, I was told it was my duty."

"Did anybody bother asking what you wanted to do?" Hogan asked quietly.

"What I wanted had little to do with it," Klink said neutrally. "It was simply expected of me. And I did what was expected of me.

"Before the war, it wasn't too bad. I think I half believed all those stories that my father and grandfather told. I think all little boys do. You would be a hero to the Fatherland, to your family and, back then, to the Kaiser. With a glorious future in the diplomatic corps or even in the court. The honor, the nobility, the glory of it.

"Not one word about the mud or the lice, or living in a charnel house. Or being buried alive. Or having your face torn off, or all your limbs. Or the horrible fear that you might be next and die. Or even worse, that you might be next, and not die."

Hogan looked at his set face. "But you stayed in. Even after the war ended."

A wincing shrug. "I was twenty-three, Colonel, with a job, a career. Civilian life in Germany was no prize. The pay was regular and needed. My father had been disabled by the war; he had been young enough to be called up. And he died a few years later. As the oldest, it was my responsibility to take care of the family. And they needed the money I sent. When the depression came, it meant the difference between going hungry or not."

"Still the dutiful son," Hogan said.

"There are worse fates." Another grimace. One that seemed to have nothing to do with what he was talking about.

Hogan glanced up at the wall still far too high above him. It was taking too long, way too long.

A loose rock slipped down the wall toward them. Hogan leaned protectively over Klink as it hit one of the beams lying atop Klink's body.

A strangled cry from Klink, his breathing quickening.

Hogan looked at him in surprise. "Colonel?"

"The pressure has shifted," Klink said in a tight voice, sweat breaking out on his brow.

"Go on, Colonel," Hogan said. "The depression — "

Klink shook his head. "No! Tell the doctor, the pressure is greater. So is the bleeding; the beam moved just enough." There was pain in his eyes as he looked at Hogan. "Go! Now!"

Hogan, alarmed, scrambled back under the beam.

...

"I don't know what happened," Hogan said with frustration. "One minute he was fine. Now . . . " He shook his head.

"There is another problem," Schultz said heavily. "We are worried about the ceiling. It is very unstable; pieces have been coming down from it as we dig. It may give way at any time."

"Then you have no choice," Doctor Bauer said calmly. "You must attack at the narrowest point."

"The beams," Hogan said flatly.

The doctor nodded. "The diggers must try to keep them as steady as possible." He turned to Hogan. "It will become much harder now, Colonel. But you must do all you can to keep him conscious. Shock is the biggest danger of all. Keep him talking," he urged. "You must."

Hogan nodded and wet his dry lips. "I'll do what I can."

...

He couldn't hide it any longer, Hogan thought bleakly as he returned to Klink. The pain was there, plainly visible on Klink's face. Up until now, Hogan could pretend that everything was fine, that Klink was just stuck. Not any more.

Hogan lay down on his side once again.

Klink's eyes turned to Hogan, dirty streaks of sweat on his face and chest.

"They're going to work at the narrowest spot," Hogan said soberly, giving Klink another drink.

"The beams," Klink said tonelessly.

Hogan nodded, unable to think of anything to say.

"Leave, Colonel Hogan," Klink said in that toneless voice. "You don't need to be here. It is too dangerous."

"No!" Hogan said with a sudden fierceness he didn't want to understand. "We got stuck in here together; we're going to get out of here together!"

Klink looked surprised at his vehemence, his eyes questioning.

Hogan avoided his gaze. "Start talking, Kommandant. And don't stop."

After a long moment, Klink began talking again.

* * *

1"Hogan's Double Life"

2"Get Fit or Go Fight"


	4. Chapter 4

Act One

Scene Three

– Four –

The pain was increasing. Hogan could see it in every bead of sweat, in every line on Klink's face, in the tense muscles of his chest. Klink's fingers clenched and unclenched, his words forced through tight lips.

And it scared Hogan. He never had to deal with pain like this before. He didn't know what to do, other than to keep Klink talking. He gave Klink another drink of water and wiped the sweat off Klink's brow.

It scared Hogan for another reason as well. Expendable. The word kept going around and around in his mind. Expendable. A tool. A nothing. Klink was nothing.

But nothings didn't feel pain, and try as he could, Hogan couldn't deny that Klink was in pain. Not any more.

The wall was getting lower, more manageable, but every bit of dirt removed shifted the beams. They had wedged rocks under the beams to keep them steady, but they were still moving, oh so slowly, putting more pressure on Klink.

An accidental butt against one of the beams by one of the diggers.

Klink's face twisted, his head arched, and his freed hand flailed helplessly against the pain. Without thinking, Hogan caught Klink's hand and grasped it firmly in his own. Klink's dirty fingers bit into his right hand. Hogan caught his breath at the force of the hold.

Expendable.

He nearly released Klink's hand. He didn't want to be reminded that Klink was, after all, flesh and blood. He had to remember that Klink was expendable. Just a uniform.

He had relaxed his hold just a bit when a fresh pain hit Klink, twisting his face, increasing the pressure on Hogan's hand.

Hogan stared at Klink's face, seeing, really seeing, the sweat on Klink's tense body, the lines etched deeply into his face, the growing pain in his eyes. Hogan felt Klink's hand in his own, felt the warmth and the strength of it.

Funny, in all these years, how often had he touched Klink? Sometimes, but always impersonally. Never like this.

Of course not, why should he touch a tool?

A tool.

The pictures were back again. Klink on the floor, hurt, bruised. Then from his nightmares. The Gestapo. Klink tortured. Collapsing into his arms.

Klink gasped, his face contorting.

_Don't hurt him . . ._

The pressure of Klink's hand increased on his. The nightmare became reality. And the tool . . .

The tool became a man, a man who needed him.

And Hogan held on.

"Go on," he told Klink roughly. "What happened next?"

He continued to hold Klink's hand in his own.

...

Hogan's hand ached from the pressure of Klink's fingers, nearly growing numb at times. He was lying beside Klink now, his face inches away from Klink's. At times, the pain ebbed from Klink's face, but it always returned, sharper than before.

Hogan had stopped thinking about what was going on outside. It was just the two of them in this hot, cramped, dark little world. Sweat plastered Hogan's filthy shirt and hair to his body.

But he didn't care. All he cared about was the tortured man lying beside him, willing strength into him. Silently begging him to hold on. Then not silently.

"Come on, Kommandant, it won't be long now," he was whispering, refusing to think about what he was doing, refusing to acknowledge what he had buried deep inside him. "Hold on. Then what?"

Occasionally, one of the diggers, either his men or the guards, would climb over the wall with a canteen of fresh water. No matter which, they would shake their heads in puzzlement at the sight of the two men, one half buried under the beams, the other lying beside him, grasping his hand tightly.

...

The beam across his hips slid unexpectedly. Klink screamed.

Work stopped for a heartrending instant on the other side. Klink was now visible to most of the men as they worked. They could see the pain on his face, the beams slowly crushing him. And they returned to their work with renewed fervor.

Hogan was shaking as the scream was wrenched from Klink. For an instant, the hand in his slipped; Hogan held on to it tightly.

Klink's tortured eyes, swimming with tears, turned to look at him. "Why?" was Klink's agonized question. "Why are you doing this?"

"I have nothing better to do," Hogan said in a flippant whisper.

"No!" Klink's voice was harsh, faint, filled with pain that was more than physical. "Not good enough. I mean nothing to you. Nothing!"

A gasping cry choked him. Klink's eyes closed as the pressure increased on Hogan's hand.

"Kommandant?" Hogan whispered.

Klink shook his head.

This time, Hogan didn't urge him on. The pain was too great. It was all Klink could do to stay conscious. Hogan carefully changed his position to get more comfortable.

Klink's eyes opened slowly.

Hogan met the questioning gaze of the tear-filled eyes. His own look wavered.

Expendable, he had thought this morning. Expendable, when he turned Klink in to the Gestapo. Expendable. Just a tool. Not a man. That's all Klink had ever been. A way to get what Hogan wanted. That's all Klink was. That's all . . .

_I mean nothing . . ._

Nothing. It didn't matter if Klink was hurting or if he died. It didn't . . .

Klink seemed to read his thoughts and, slowly, his grasp loosened. "Leave, Hogan." His voice was bitter. "And take your pity with you."

Hogan looked at him.

All the pain, all the hurt, of the past three years were in Klink's tearing eyes. The eyes of a man who had been betrayed too often, hurt too often, by one he had trusted. With a life of its own, Hogan's shaking hand touched Klink's wet forehead gently.

Klink flinched away from his touch. Hogan, he couldn't forget, had helped him before, only to leave him, only to betray him yet again. He was too tired now, he hurt too much, and he was afraid, so afraid, of being hurt again. He couldn't take any more.

And Hogan knew it.

"What have I done to you?" he murmured shakily, the appalling truth finally acknowledged. "Dear God, what have I done?"

That faint whisper penetrated the pain-ridden world Klink was in. And he looked at Hogan. This time, Hogan's emotion-filled eyes held his.

He could stop lying now. To himself. To Klink. Lying about what this man, this foolish often naive man, meant to him. This man he had hurt so badly, so often.

"No, Kommandant." His grasp tightened on Klink's hand. "I won't leave.

"We're in this together, Kommandant," Hogan whispered fiercely. "All the way to the end. You and me. Do you hear me, Wilhelm Klink? You and me!"

Klink's eyes stayed on his. Hogan could see it, could see life and long abandoned hope slowly returning to those empty tearing eyes.

"Oh God," Hogan said with anguish, "I'm sorry. I'm so . . . " He choked on the words.

Beneath the pain, beneath the hope, Hogan saw the smile. And more.

"You and me," Klink finally echoed. "To the . . . end."

Then his eyes closed as he screamed silently.


	5. Chapter 5

Act One

Scene Three

– Five –

Klink screamed.

"Kommandant!"

Klink's mouth opened again as Hogan's grip tightened. Then Hogan felt the pressure on his hand slacken.

"Kommandant!" Hogan yelled again, his lips inches away from Klink's ear.

But this time, it did no good. Klink's eyes glazed over, and his limp hand slipped from Hogan's grasp.

_Damn!_

"Get him out of here!" Hogan yelled. "He's unconscious!"

No longer worried about hurting the trapped man, the rescuers dug frantically at the remaining rubble. Then as some of them held up the troublesome beams, Klink was pulled loose from the debris. Quickly, he was laid on a stretcher and carried hurriedly out of the cave. Hogan followed anxiously.

At the ambulance, the doctor didn't hesitate. As Hogan came up beside him, Doctor Bauer ripped open the filthy, bloodied trousers. One of the soldiers who had carried the stretcher gagged and turned away. Jagged bits of glass and metal were embedded in an ugly bleeding wound in Klink's right thigh. Hastily, the doctor secured a tourniquet just above the wound.

Klink stirred as the doctor loosely bandaged the wound. His eyes opened.

"Kommandant," the doctor said gently, "we will be taking you to the hospital now. Do not worry."

Klink nodded wearily. "Colonel Hogan," he whispered.

Hogan knelt beside the stretcher. "Yes, sir?" Hogan's voice was unusually respectful.

Klink looked at him steadily and then held up his hand. To the surprise of the onlookers, Hogan didn't shake the offered hand. Instead, he grasped it, the way he had in the cave.

Klink looked surprised, his eyes searching Hogan's face. Then with a faint smile, Klink returned the firm pressure. His eyes closed.

Hogan gently laid Klink's hand down on the stretcher and stood. He watched as Klink was lifted into the ambulance. He continued to watch as the ambulance drove away.

_To the end, Kommandant. You and me._

Hogan turned away and walked over to the waiting truck, leaving behind a group of very puzzled men.

...

Hogan followed the ambulance to the hospital and waited less than patiently during Klink's operation. After a long time, Doctor Bauer walked into the waiting room where Hogan had been pacing like a caged animal.

Hogan held his breath as Schultz asked, "How is the Kommandant, Herr Doktor?"

Bauer's smile reassured them. "He will be fine. There appears to be no permanent damage to his leg. In time, it should be good as new."

"May we see him?" Schultz asked.

"He is still asleep," Bauer said. "But it will do no harm. If he awakens, do not tire him. He needs a great deal of rest."

"Danke, Herr Doktor."

...

Dawn was breaking as Hogan stood at the window in Klink's room, his unseeing eyes on the bleak landscape outside.

"Would you like some coffee, Colonel Hogan?" Schultz asked him.

A nod. "Thanks, Schultz."

Schultz left the room as Hogan walked back to the bed. Klink lay on the bed, tubes and things sticking out of him. He was pale, pale as death.

A squeeze inside Hogan.

_Prefer that he had killed me . . ._

_Killed me . . ._

His words had haunted him while he waited earlier. He had been afraid, so afraid, that his harsh, unthinking words would become reality. Afraid that Klink would die. Tears had blinded him then. He had blinked them away as he saw his men's puzzled eyes on him, and he turned away.

Other words and thoughts had also haunted him. Expendable, tool, thing. Every word he had thought about Klink in the past.

_Bastard._ The curse he had flung at a beaten, exhausted man who needed his help.

And those nightmares. All those dreams he had been having since he'd wished Klink dead. Dreams he had ignored, dreams that only made him angry. But they were dreams that shook him to the core of his being, dreams which sometimes left him in tears.

But the dreams had been nothing compared to the reality that faced him in that cave. He had felt so helpless when confronted with Klink's agony.

Klink's forehead was wet. Hogan picked up a towel and wiped away the sweat. Then his hand stayed on Klink's forehead.

All that wasted time trying to pretend he didn't care for this man, trying to hate him, making his life miserable. He didn't need to do that. This poor, naive man would have done whatever Hogan wanted without being aware of it.

But that hadn't been enough for Hogan. He had to stick it to Klink as well and then, slowly, twist the knife. Stripping away Klink's humanity every time he did. Last month was the final step. The one time Klink needed him, the one time that there was nothing in it for Hogan, and he walked away from Klink. Worse, he had wished Klink dead.

Dead.

Hogan shuddered. That's what he had been doing to Klink all these years. Killing him slowly, bit by bit. Until there was nothing left. Nothing but those empty, lifeless eyes.

_God, what a fool I've been. A blind, dangerous fool._

_..._

Klink slowly regained consciousness. He hurt. All over, he hurt. His bloodshot eyes opened. Hogan stood beside him, a worried look on his face.

Hogan. He had dreamed about Hogan. Dreamed that Hogan had made him a promise. Dreamed . . .

Hogan saw the confusion, the hurt, still lingering in Klink's eyes. And he understood. It would take time, time for Klink to trust him. He reached out and took Klink's hand in his, grasping it as he had in the cave.

Klink had started at the touch. Started and tried to withdraw his hand. But he seemed to have no energy for such a simple movement. He was so tired. Klink's eyes closed.

When Schultz returned, Hogan was still holding Klink's hand.

...

_It was dark, no light. Something was crawling over him, something obscene. He wanted to scream and couldn't. There was no air._

_The wall collapsed on top of him. There was such pain in his leg. He heard someone scream from the pain._

_Hogan. He saw Hogan in the distance. He wanted to call out. But nothing came from his parched throat._

_"Hold on, Kommandant," someone was saying._

_He couldn't. He hurt too much. He wanted to cry, to disappear into that welcoming darkness. But someone wouldn't let him. Someone whose hand grasped his._

_"Still alive, Kommandant?" A voice taunted him._

_Hochstetter? Martinelli?_

_His back hurt unbearably. Somehow, he kept from screaming as the belt struck yet again._

_Darkness. Absolute darkness. _

_A voice. Panic-stricken. He responded. And kept talking, keeping the voice from panicking._

_Then he was left alone. Alone with the darkness, alone with the pain. _

_This time, he screamed._

Klink jerked awake, his tearing eyes opening. He was alone. Completely alone in the darkening room.

Panic squeezed his insides. Unreasoning panic. He had been abandoned in the darkness with the pain. Hogan had abandoned him again. He had . . .

Klink moved convulsively, pain seared his thigh.

The door opened.

"Kommandant!" Hogan went over to him.

The relief as he saw Hogan was nearly overwhelming. In that instant, he remembered what Hogan had promised him in the cave. And shame for doubting Hogan flooded over him.

Hogan saw the relief, doubt and shame cross Klink's face. He also saw the pain. Hogan picked up the glass of water beside Klink's bed and held the straw to Klink's lips. The Kommandant sipped the water gratefully. Then Hogan returned the glass to the nightstand and looked at Klink.

Klink's eyes had closed for a moment but then they opened. He looked at Hogan. His eyes were uncertain, guarded. He hated the doubt that was still inside him, but he was afraid, so very afraid, that what had happened between them in the cave wasn't real.

Hogan nodded slowly with understanding. Time. They both needed time.

His hand found Klink's and grasped it firmly as he had done in the cave. Slowly, the panic, the doubt, started to fade from the blue eyes as they stayed on Hogan's face.

The door opened and Schultz entered. "I am sorry, Colonel Hogan. But you must return to camp now."

Hogan nodded, his eyes on Klink's. "They're kicking me out, Kommandant," he said softly, bending over the still man. "Do you understand?"

Klink nodded slowly.

"I'll see you back in camp, Kommandant," Hogan said quietly. "Okay?"

Klink nodded again, all fear, all doubt gone from his eyes. "Thank you," he managed to whisper hoarsely.

Hogan shook his head. This man had nothing to thank him for. Instead, this foolish man had managed to teach him a lesson he needed to learn. One he would never forget.

A squeeze on Klink's hand, and Hogan smiled briefly. "Hurry back, Kommandant. Do everything they tell you to do. And hurry back."

Klink nodded again.

Hogan released Klink's hand and walked to the door. A glance back at Klink.

_You and me, Kommandant. To the end._

Klink seemed to read his mind and smiled wanly.

_To the end._


	6. Chapter 6

Act One

Scene Three

– Six –

Christmas Eve, 1944.

Colonel Robert Hogan watched as Klink's staff car turned into the compound. The car stopped before Klink's quarters. Schultz got out of the car, walked around it, and opened the door. Kommandant Wilhelm Klink got out of the car, carrying a cane. Captain Fritz Gruber hurried down the stairs to greet the Kommandant. Leaning on the cane, Klink walked up the stairs and into his quarters.

With a faint smile, Hogan walked back to his barracks.

It had been a week since Klink was pulled from beneath the beams. Though Gruber had given him permission to do so, Hogan hadn't gone back to the hospital since then. He didn't need to. For one thing, Schultz kept him up to date on Klink's condition. For another . . .

Now they both knew how things stood between them. On the surface, things would remain the same. The brash American and the harassed Kommandant. But, regardless of when the war ended, they would face the end together. When the Allies walked into the camp, Klink would need his help. And Hogan would give it freely.

...

It was dark when Klink came out on the porch in front of the office. A tree had been set up in the middle of the compound, decorated with odds and ends. Klink could, just, hear Christmas carols being sung in the barracks. Snow, soft and light, lay over everything. The sky overhead was clear, the stars bright. The cold air was still, calm. Almost like Christmas should be. _Except for the barbed wire and the armed guards_.

Klink heard Hogan approach.

For a while, neither man said anything.

Finally, Hogan broke the silence. "Beautiful night."

Klink nodded. "Very." Then a smile at the American standing beside him. "You know, in combat, they sometimes call a truce on Christmas, even in the middle of a battle."

"Think they'll do that now?" Hogan asked.

"I don't know. But we could call one here," Klink said.

Hogan looked at him. "How?"

"We forget about curfews and lights out and machine guns." He glanced at Hogan. "Provided — "

Hogan grinned. "Provided we forget about getting away."

A slow smile. "Well, Colonel Hogan?"

"What would General Burkhalter say?"

"I really don't care," Klink said to Hogan's surprise. "Besides, he's not going to drop in. Not on Christmas."

"Kommandant, sometimes, I can't figure you out."

"Colonel Hogan, I could say the same about you."

Hogan laughed. It felt good to laugh again; he hadn't laughed in a long time. "Okay, Kommandant. We call a truce. When do we start?"

A faint smile. "It already has."

Surprised, Hogan looked out over the compound. The searchlights were turned into the compound, but the soldiers manning the watchtowers were coming down. The guards, a little tentatively, were putting away their weapons.

"I thought you would agree," Klink said softly beside him.

Hogan shook his head. "I'm getting too predictable."

"I would not go that far," Klink said dryly.

"Then maybe you're getting too unpredictable."

A quick glance at Hogan. "Maybe. I think you should tell your men, Colonel."

Hogan nodded and walked away.

Schultz came up behind Klink. "Should you be standing, Herr Kommandant?" he chided.

But Klink wasn't listening to him; his eyes were on Hogan as he told the prisoners to come out of the barracks. "I wonder," Klink said softly.

"Jawohl?" prompted Schultz.

Klink straightened up. "Nothing, Schultz. Nothing at all."

And Schultz sighed. The Kommandant was a stubborn man. A very stubborn man.

...

Nearly midnight.

Klink looked around, satisfied at what he saw. The guards and the prisoners were actually mingling in the compound, and Christmas carols were being sung by mixed groups of men.

Good. It would make things easier later. How much later, he was unwilling to guess.

His eyes rose to the stars. He found himself praying that this would be the last Christmas in this camp. The last Christmas of the war. A war that had gone on for a lifetime.

To their surprise, Hogan broke away from his men and walked over to Klink, a bottle of champagne and two glasses in his hand. He handed a glass to Klink who took it with a faint smile. Hogan filled Klink's glass and then his own. The bottle he set down on the steps.

It was Klink who made the toast. "Merry Christmas, Robert Hogan."

No titles, no labels.

"Merry Christmas, Wilhelm Klink."


	7. Chapter 7

Act One

Scene Three

– Seven –

Long after dark, Hogan walked across the compound with a bottle in his hand. Prisoners and guards were milling around together much as they did on Christmas Eve. Only the songs were different. Why not? After all, it was New Year's Eve.

He walked up the stairs to Klink's office. The outer office was empty. Hilda had left happily shortly after noon. Klink, to her surprise, had given her the rest of the day off. But Klink had not been so generous with himself. He was still working in his office.

Hogan quietly opened the door to the inner office and peered inside. Klink seemed engrossed in his work. Something Hogan had never appreciated before. It was easy enough to call Klink incompetent, conveniently ignoring all the times that he worked nonstop. Ignoring all the times Klink did do the right thing.

Hogan rapped softly on the door; Klink's head lifted.

Hogan smiled at him. "Do you know what time it is?" He didn't give Klink a chance to answer as he stepped into the office. "It's just an hour from midnight, Kommandant. A little late to be working. Especially tonight."

A faint smile from Klink. "What did you have in mind?"

Hogan grinned. "What I really had in mind was a nice blonde, or maybe a brunette, the two of us standing in Times Square, waiting for the New Year. But since I couldn't make it back there even if I flew, I'll settle for a drink and some talk."

"You know where the glasses are," Klink said in a dry voice. "I'll just get rid of these."

Klink signed a couple of pages and slipped them into envelopes. The rest he gathered into a neat pile on the side of his desk.

Hogan came over with the glasses. He poured the champagne into the two glasses and nodded at the papers on the desk. "Never seems to stop."

"It is getting worse," Klink admitted. "Every piece of property, from paper clips to napkins, now needs to be accounted for." He picked up a glass.

"Money?" Hogan asked.

Klink nodded. "Berlin needs every cent, or rather pfennig, they can get their hands on. So they're tightening the budgets."

Hogan sat down, picking up his own glass. "Hurting yet?"

"Let's just say it is getting a little uncomfortable." Klink sipped his drink. "Not bad," he said appreciatively. "How are the buildings going?"

"Going. You know it won't be enough," Hogan said.

Klink nodded. "Tomorrow, I'll look over the storage buildings. Maybe we can convert some of them."

"Good idea. But tomorrow's a holiday."

A faint smile. "For who?" He changed the subject. "How is it outside?"

"A bit more raucous than last week."

"I hope I don't regret this."

"They'll behave, Kommandant. All of them."

Klink shrugged and lifted his glass. "To your good health, Colonel," he toasted.

"And yours, Kommandant." Hogan's glass also lifted and the two men drank.

"To peace," Hogan said after a while.

"Peace." Klink sighed and after sipping his drink, put the glass down. He stood and walked over to the window. "Peace," he murmured, his eyes on the men milling around in the compound. "Sometimes, I wonder if it will ever happen."

"It will," Hogan said cheerfully. He glanced at the man at the window. "When it does, what will you do?"

A thin smile. "You didn't say who won, Colonel."

Hogan grinned.

"Yes. I know." Klink returned to his chair and picked up his glass. "If Germany wins or there is a draw, I don't think my life will change much. I will still be in the Luftwaffe and probably still here for a while, sending, I hope, prisoners home.

"If the Allies win," he said slowly, "I imagine what I want to do will be of little consequence for some time."

Hogan looked at him in surprise.

A faint smile. "I will probably still be here. But I imagine I will be the one inhabiting the barracks. Or the cooler."

"That's a pessimistic assumption," Hogan protested.

"It is a realistic assumption, Colonel," Klink said evenly. "Kommandants of prisoner of war camps are not very popular among the winners of a war. My fate will be in the hands of someone else for a long time to come." He sipped his drink. "I accepted that a long time ago." He glanced at Hogan. "And what about you, Colonel?"

Hogan shrugged. "I guess I haven't really thought about it. Does seem like a long time away. And it seems like a lifetime ago."

A thin smile. "Colonel, your war has been around for only a few years. Mine?" Klink removed the monocle and rubbed his eyes. "For more years than I like to count. It seems as if I have been in a war, or preparing for one, my entire life."

Hogan silently refilled Klink's glass.

"You Americans think the war started in 1941; the British think it started in 1939, the French, 1938," Klink continued. "It really started in 1918 when the first war supposedly ended." A sigh. "The sheer waste of that war was incredible," Klink said softly. "Millions of men died fighting over inches of ground for reasons few of them understood. In many places, an entire generation of men disappeared. Relatives, friends, classmates vanished. My own father ultimately died of wounds received in the war. But we were lucky compared to many others in Germany."

"How so?" Hogan asked.

"Our family was pretty much intact, close and, unlike many others, we had a home. My mother has a house that has been in her family for generations. And we had a store, a business that we were able to keep operating no matter how bad things became. Many had nothing. In America, you have an expression, 'money to burn'?"

"Yeah. It means you're so rich, you can burn money."

An ironic smile. "In Germany, it meant something totally different. Here, money was so worthless that the only way to get any use out of it was to burn it for heat. In a way, what happened next was almost inevitable."

"I don't buy that," Hogan said bluntly. "You people had a choice."

"Spoken like a man who's never had to contend with the complete defeat," Klink said. Another sip of the champagne.

"Yes, we had some choices," Klink said after a moment. "But we came out of the first war the losers. And, unlike your President Wilson, the other winners were not willing to be conciliatory. Germany wound up being completely responsible for the first war. Reparations, impossible reparations, were demanded of a people who couldn't feed themselves. Countries were carved up like pieces of a pie with little regard for the people who had lived there for generations. A system of government that had operated for centuries was swept aside, leaving a vacuum. The Weimar Republic tried, and, for a time, it did some things well. Until the Depression. Then it all collapsed."

"Then Hitler," Hogan said, more than a little surprised at Klink's analysis.

"He gave many people a sense of badly needed pride, and offered hope and prosperity. For a price. By the time the price was known, it was too late."

"It's never too late," Hogan argued.

A cynical smile. "It is when you are surrounded by mindless terror on all sides. When your seemingly normal life can be destroyed by a thoughtless remark. When friends turn on friends, and family members on family members."

Klink stared into his glass as he continued. "There was an old man who lived not far from us. It was 1933, and the Nazis were still not well known by most people. He made the mistake of cursing some party members. More in the way old men do than from any real ill will. A few days later, he was found in an alley, badly beaten, a warning note tied around his neck. No one ever found out who did it, but everyone knew the Nazis were responsible. Before that, he had been fairly robust and outspoken; afterwards, he withdrew into himself.

"The neighborhood changed after that. Politics became a taboo subject. People became afraid of speaking their minds about any subject. They grew distrustful, even of those they had known all of their lives. Eventually, survival became more important than anything else. And survival meant closing your eyes and keeping your mouth shut. No matter what happened."

"You're rather talkative," Hogan said quietly. "I've never seen you like this."

Klink rubbed his face. "It's the champagne, Colonel. And the New Year. And . . . "

"And?" Hogan prompted.

"I'm tired," Klink said simply. "Tired of a war that's gone on forever. Tired of constantly being on guard, tired of weighing every word I say, tired of never knowing who to trust." He drained his glass.

Hogan was more than a little surprised at his candor. "Aren't you being rather trusting now?"

A humorless smile. "Probably. Well," Klink stood, "New Year's Eves are supposed to be for reflecting on the past. And the future. If Hochstetter has a listening device in here," he gestured at the office, "I will not have to worry about what to do after the war. I doubt if I will live long enough to see it end." He glanced at Hogan's concerned face. "And you know something, Colonel Hogan, if that happens, the truth is, I won't regret a word of what I said."

Hogan stood. "I don't understand you, Kommandant. One minute, you're a complete . . . The next . . . " He shook his head.

"It's the champagne, Colonel." Klink turned back to the window. "Think of it as the ramblings of a man about to turn fifty who's seen more of the ugliness of life than its beauty." Klink visibly shook himself. "I'm depressing you as well as myself, Colonel. I apologize."

Klink went back to the desk and picked up his glass. Hogan filled it for him.

Klink gazed at the sparkling bubbles. "There is so much beauty in the world. Why are men so intent on destroying it?"

"I wish I knew," Hogan said soberly.

Klink looked at Hogan with a small smile. "Forgive me. I tend to find holidays rather depressing lately."

Hogan smiled back. "You're forgiven. This war won't last forever, Kommandant. Things will change for the better."

"Spoken like a true optimist."

"I haven't been wrong yet."

Klink's smile grew. "It must be wonderful to be always right."

"I wouldn't go that far. I've been wrong once or twice." _Especially about you_, his eyes meeting Klink's.

Klink picked up the bottle and topped off Hogan's glass. Putting the bottle down, Klink glanced at the clock. Outside, they could hear a countdown going on in English and German. Inside, the two men gazed at each other and waited.

Cheers from the outside.

Hogan lifted his glass. "Happy New Year, Wilhelm Klink."

"Happy New Year, Robert Hogan."

Their glasses clinked.


End file.
